


Jawbones

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blow Jobs, Historical, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Scout has a bone to pick with the Sniper...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jawbones

"Man it’s hot up here," the Scout griped, shucking his shirt. The sweaty patches had made patterns in the ingrained dust, making the red shirt resemble the sedimentary rock formations outside.

The Sniper just shrugged.

"How can you stand it?" the Scout continued, stretching arms up over his head, trying desperately to catch a breeze. He got a grunt in response.  "I mean, it’s like, we’ve got a ceasefire, how come you’re up here where it’s mad hot?"

"Hotter in me camper," the Sniper remarked, reclining on what might in some cultures be called a cot, stretched out in the shadows of the loft.

"Well, maybe, but… heat rises, don’t it?" The Scout was persistent.

"You don’t have to stay here," the Sniper reminded him.

"Come on, man, you don’t gotta be like /that/…" The Sniper said nothing, so the Scout attempted to find a somewhat cooler place to sit, tried to be still and quiet like the Sniper was, fidgeted, looked over at the dusty boots sticking out of the shadows, slumped and let his arms flop to his sides. He glanced to the Sniper again. The man had a relaxed air about him, but it wasn’t a friendly relaxedness like Demo, or the easy patience of the Engineer. He was distant, but it wasn’t the Spy’s careful aloofness or the Medic’s clinical detachment. It made the Scout want to get under his skin. 

"Well I’m moving into the shade, anyway, so shove over," the Scout declared, shuffling towards what he assumed would be the most comfortable place in the Sniper’s nest. The boots moved and the Scout went to take their place, his back against one of the crates propping up the Sniper’s bedroll. His calves and feet still stuck out into a shaft of late afternoon sunlight, and he knew that even though the golden light was dwindling, the heat would stay in the wood and in the rocks long after the sun set. He shifted— boards dug into his bare back and pressed into his knobby spine. His eyes cut surreptitiously over to the lanky sharpshooter who sat halfway upright with his arms folded behind his head and one ankle resting on the other knee, making wide angles of his legs. 

"What happened to your jaw, there, mate?" The Scout couldn’t even tell that the Sniper was looking at him, with his shades on and everyhing. He rubbed at the bruise on his left cheek.

"Tch, I was in the Rec room, yanno, just watching Bewitched or some shit, and Demo walks, or more like stumbles in, smelling like he took a damn BATH in liquor. "So I says to him, I says, DAMN, Demo, it’s like, NOON. You figured you’d get a head start, or were we out of cereal again? "An’ then—" the Scout gesticulated wildly, "He launches into this whole thing about how if I was col- er, black, and  foreign, and disabled, as well as stuck in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, I might unnerstand a thing or two about where he’s comin’ from, an’ he was all, up in my face, so I says,  ’Shut up Angela Davis,’" the Scout paused, "And he clocks me in the mouth, WHAM, right there!" He cocked his jaw in the Sniper’s direction, pointing out the centerpoint of the injury. 

"Heh," was all the Sniper said, but one side of his mouth slanted up into a thin smirk.  "Aw man, you’ve got that thing the Medic’s got… Y’know, shoddy-froidy."

"Schädenfreude." "Yeah, that!" He scrambled up to look the Sniper in the face, balancing next to him on the crates. "What’s up with that, huh? That’s wicked uncool." He tried to look threatening, but knew the Sniper would only have to sweep an arm out to unbalance him, and he’d fall on his ass.

"S’just funny, is all," the Sniper answered, not moving even an inch— or a centimetre, since he was probably metric. The Scout scowled, but didn’t back down. "You and your big mouth, eh Scout?" A flash of coffee-stained teeth as the Sniper’s wicked grin widened. 

"Oh yeah?" That was all the warning the Sniper got before the Scout pitched forward and kissed him. Leaned up into a corner he had nowhere to back away to, and he squirmed, but the Scout’s hands were bunched in his shirt and he made muffled noises that the Scout seemed to swallow up, the pressure painful, and when he finally got a hand out from under the Scout’s knee, he gave a great shove at a bare shoulder, slipped his hand to a pale, thin throat, and pushed, until the Scout relented.

"WHAT in BLUE BLAZES is wrong with you?!" The Sniper wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "If this is your idea of a joke, I ain’t laughin’," he growled, and even though the Scout couldn’t see the man’s eyes, he could tell the Sniper was glaring daggers at him. "What the bloody hell do you think you’re— get off me, you barmy degenerate!" He struggled to remove the Scout from his personal space. 

The Scout stumbled backwards and ended up kneeling on the floor with one of the Sniper’s pointy boots planted in the middle of his chest, keeping him at bay. “What is WRONG with you?!” he repeated, wiping his mouth again.

"I DUNNO, man!" the Scout shouted, flinging his arms wide. "I dunno. It’s always been like this." He swiped at the back of his neck and didn’t even look at the Sniper, brows furrowed.  "I mean I like chicks, like a lot, but sometimes I see a guy and I… And it’s… Look I know it’s fucked up, okay?! And I mean I’ve tried to ignore it, for a really fuckin’ long time, awright? Cuz I mean I guess it started with Daegan O’Reilly and his twin sister Darcie— they uh, they lived in the apartment below ours, and so I’d see ‘em doin laundry… Like damn, her in like, this white shiny top with, y’know, straps instead’a sleeves, and like, lacy shit on it, and he’d just be in his boxer shorts I guess, and they looked so alike, and I used to have these dreams where they were both jackin’ me off, yanno? And I told myself that it was just because Daegan looked like his smokin’ hot sister, but then there was Al Hinkel in my Phys. Ed class in eleventh grade, and Vinnie Serrano at the J.C… An’.. I dunno man! I dunno! Fuck!" He scrubbed at his face with his hands and the Sniper let his foot drop to the floor, but sat more upright so he’d have better leverage if he had to kick the twitchy little weirdo away again. 

"Well, fine for you, but you don’t gotta take it out on me," the marksman finally said. 

"Aw come on, can’t you just let me suck you off, at least?"

"NO, you weird little blighter, what would make you think that was okay?!"

"You could just close your eyes and pretend I’m a chick!" 

"That— that doesn’t even make a lick of sense!" The Scout laughed at the other’s choice of words, and the Sniper was unsettled, and shifted, and the Scout jolted forward and shoved a hand between the Sniper’s legs, giving him a squeeze before his wrist was caught in a steely grip. 

"Come on, Snipes," the Scout persisted, and before he could try again with his other hand, the Sniper caught that one, too, so he writhed up and rubbed the length of his chest and abdomen into the apex of the Sniper’s thighs. The Sniper grimaced and hooked a boot into the small of the Scout’s back, and transferring both of the Scout’s smaller wrists into one large hand, forced the runner around so he could hold him down. The Scout struggled and bucked and tried to get his powerful legs under him, but the Sniper looped one wiry arm around the Scout’s head, forearm grinding into the bruise on his jaw, and kneeled on his ankles.

"Jeezus fuck, man, what kinda guy says no to a blow?" the Scout managed, choking in the headlock and trying to worm his way out of the Sniper’s hold. 

"I think I’ve mentioned before that I have /standards/," the Sniper grit out, trying to keep the squirrely Scout pinned. "One of ‘em being ‘no blokes’, ya daft little bugger."

"But when’s the next time you’re gonna get a chick, huh? Ain’t even any good-looking hookers in Teufort, you know that and so do I!" the Scout squirmed and cautiously brushed the cleft of his ass against the Sniper’s crotch. He discovered he liked it, even through layers of work pants, but never got a chance to keep it up because a pointy knee jabbed into his spine and held him in place. A noise of frustration escaped him. "Come ON, you gotta be jonesin’ for a lay, I mean, how long’s it been, huh? You ain’t got some little woman waitin’ for ya, I know that for damn sure. An’, what, you hopin’ some loose babe is gonna wander through this backwater Podunk nowhere town off a hippie trailhead? Ain’t fuckin’ likely!"

"Yer barkin’ up the wrong tree, mate! For fuck’s sake, we work together!"

"That ain’t stopped Heavy an’ Medic!"

"Oh, Christ, were you the one that started that rumour?"

"Come ON, you’re always watchin’ people an’ shit, you’d have to know—"

"Ain’t my concern! What IS my concern is upstart brats comin’ into MY roost like they bleedin’ own the place and tryin’ to— GAWD, what the hell is WRONG with you?!"

"Quit sayin’ that, awright?!" The Scout fought with renewed vigor, but the Sniper held him fast. "Look, I can make it good, I promise!"

His answer was a cruel laugh. 

"Like you’re some old pro, eh? You done this a lot then?"

"N-No! But who cares?!  Cuz I’ve gotten a couple BJs yanno and I have a dick so I know what feels good, right?"

The Sniper chuckled behind him again.

"You ain’t got the first clue, do ya? Yer still wet behind the ears, tryin’ t’act like the big man, when you ain’t got the first bleedin’ clue."

"An’ quit treatin’ me like a little kid! I’m twenty-three goddammit!"

"Oh yeah, yer really gettin’ long in tooth there, mate."

"You talk like you know better’n me, you gonna show me how it’s done?"

"Nah, mate, I told you. I ain’t into blokes." The Scout sagged in the Sniper’s hold. 

"Look I just wanted to—" He thrashed again and finally got one hand free, used it for leverage to roll over on his back between the Sniper’s legs. He looked up at the other man , propped up on his elbows. "Seriously man. When was the last time anyone offered?" The Sniper didn’t answer. "I’m offerin’ here! An’ look, it ain’t like I’m gonna go tellin’ anyone, shit!" His face was earnest. The Sniper’s was impassive. After a silence, the Scout twitched. "So, you gonna let me go ‘down undah’ or what?" The Sniper groaned and passed a hand over his face. 

"I’d really prefer you didn’t put it that way."

"/What/? Jeez. We gonna do this thing or not?"  He watched the Sniper make a face, but then the man backed up and sat back down on his cot, elbows on his knees.  "Look, what… What wild hair got up yer arse, anyway? And what, god… Why ME?" He peered over his shades at the Scout, lying there in the twilight gloom. The Scout thought the Sniper looked more tired than anything, and bit the inside of his cheek. The Sniper seemed to expect an answer, and he shrugged.

"I dunno, man… D’ya really ‘spect me to explain it to ya? Jeez!" He looked away, and the Sniper removed his sunglasses to massage the bridge of his nose.

"I’m just tryin’ to understand, mate. I don’t— you gotta understand this’s never happened to me."

"Well, it’s not like I get it either! Fuck! You want me to explain /why/ I like you? Sheesh! How fuckin’ girly can y’get?"

"Might help me wrap my head around this, yeah!" 

The Scout snarled and rolled his head, flopping back on the floor. Arms spread out and staring at the rafters he gave in. “Look, you… I dunno, you’re good at what you do, awright, an’ you’re a good lookin’ dude, okay? Izzat enough for ya?!”

"Seems to be enough for you."

"Well, fuck!" The Scout raised his hands and let them thud back against the floorboards. "Ain’t gonna wax all poetic ova here!" He practically growled, frustrated. "Okay, fine. But tell anyone and I’ll kill you, spread your guts out so far, Respawn won’t never even find all the pieces." The Sniper just shrugged. With a weary sigh the Scout said, "I… I like yer legs, an’— an’ all the weird shit you say unner your breath when you’re shootin’ shit, okay? An’ like, check out yer gun, right? It’s pretty cool, an’ you, uh… Shit, I can’t do this, Snipes! Fuckin’, I can’t… I dunno what to tell ya ‘cept I look at you and wanna  mess you up or… Fuck, I dunno! I just… I wanna… An’ I bet you’d make it all rough and raw, an’ FUCK…! Fuck, Snipes." He mumbled into his hands, covering his face. When he looked up at the Sniper between his fingers, the man’s eyes had widened slightly, but otherwise, he showed no reaction. The Scout let his head fall back to the floor. He couldn’t believe he’d spilled his guts like that and was wondering vaguely if he could bat Snipes over the head a few times and make him forget it ever happened. 

"That’s pretty weird, mate," the Sniper said.         

"Shut up," the Scout replied, but his heart wasn’t in it. 

"And you say it’s always been like that? You an’ blokes, I mean."

"S’what I said, jeez!"

"So it’s not like, you know, that sort of army or prison type stuff fellas get warned about, then, eh?" 

"Fuckin’ A, man, I like chicks too! Prob’ly more!"

"Probably?"

"Well, shit, how’m I supposed to know? Ain’t no guy ever— I mean I’ve never even told— uh. Y’know."

"I’m the only one who knows?"

“‘Less there’s a Spy in here with nothin’ to do and a death wish, yeah. So feel fuckin’ special, or some shit.”

The Sniper’s lips seemed to get even thinner and the corners twitched down slightly. The Scout couldn’t think of anything to say that would dig him out of this hole, so he decided to just go for broke and propped himself up on his elbows again.

"Aintcha even a little bit curious—"

"No," the Sniper said flatly.

"Now you’re just bein’ contrary."

"I’m being honest."

"I don’t think so, man. I think you’d /honestly/ like having your dick sucked. You’re lying if you say you don’t enjoy that."

"Not by /YOU/!"

"Maybe you would."

"No, I really don’t think so."

"Then how come you ain’t kicked me out yet?" The Scout was actually surprised when instead of saying, ‘Scout, get out’, or ‘Scout, piss off,’ or ‘Scout, so help me if I ever see you darkening my doorway again I’ll bend my kukri into a boomerang so I can lob it at you once and hack you to bits twice,’ the Sniper relaxed back to regard him.

"Because I’m still trying to figure out what in the bloody hell you’re thinking."  The Scout scoffed. He felt he’d explained that pretty damn well. 

"Ain’t too fuckin’ complicated," he groused, looking away. 

"So that’s really it, then? You just want to, er—"

"Go down on ya? Suck you off? Blow ya? Kiss ya in the trousers? I got more." He was getting flippant, and probably defensive, and the Sniper pulled a face.

"And that’s all? No, er, /romance/ or anything?"   

"Aw, jeez, Snipes, seriously?!" If he’d been wearing his hat, the Scout would have hid his face in it.

"But that’s it, right?"

"Idleddyafuggmeifyawanned," the Scout said, and it was only then that his cheeks and ears went pink.

"You’d, er—"

"I said I’d let you f-fuck me if you wanted!" His wrapped hands were fisted in the fabric of his knickerbockers.

"What?!"

"Well I figure you’re not gonna let me do it t’YOU, so—!"

"Too bleedin’ right!" the Sniper choked out.

"But you’re, y’know, considerin’, uh, the other thing?" The hopeful look on his face, with the ardent blush and the obvious way his buckteeth kept trying to fix themselves to his lower lip, made the Sniper want to squirm.

"Maybe if you’d shut up about it for two seconds!"   
The Scout got clumsily to his knees and ambled toward the Sniper. He stopped what he thought was a respectful distance away: a good two feet, probably. “You won’t regret it, I swear, I’ll make it good and I want it so bad Snipes, you don’t even know, let me just, just, let me—!”

"Hell, Scout, quit… Quit ruinin’ it, Christ! "

"Okay, okay! I’m just— but, I mean, I can? We can?"

"Just, shut up, Scout."

He’d heard the words so many times they’d practically lost all meaning, so to the Scout, that was more or less a resounding ‘yes’. Heart hammering in his chest he positioned himself between the Sniper’s legs, licked his lips and his hands twitched before he attacked the Sniper’s fly with such aggression the marksman flinched.

"Oi! Easy now you crazed hooligan!" but the Scout was all over him like jam on a magnet and the Sniper had to force him away again. "Look, if… If you’re gonna do this it’s gonna be on my terms. Slow down." A pause. "I know it’s not in your nature, but, Christ, can you try NOT to have me bits off?"

"Y-yeah, totally, y’know, just uh—" He tried again, doing his best to be gentle as he pulled the button loose and tugged the zipper open. He’d never gotten this far before with a guy, and took a steadying breath. Pulling the trousers out of the way just a bit he swallowed. "You ain’t wearin’ any underwear," he rasped, eyes wide as he drank up revealed flesh, the thatch of brown hair leading down. 

"Convenient," the Sniper answered quietly, with a slight shrug.

"That is so fuckin’ hot, goddamn—"

"/Scout/…" the Sniper warned, and the Scout amended to actually TRY to shut up, just this once, but wasn’t sure he was going to be able to, not when all of the stolen glances in the showers and in the toilets were coming together, up close and personal like, and the Sniper was letting him pull his pants off his hips and, and /look/. He licked his lips again. The Sniper wasn’t even close to hard, but the Scout was determined to change that, taking the man’s cock in hand and trying to handle it like he would his own. A few pulls had it showing a bit of interest and his pulse quickened, heart in his throat as he glanced up at the Sniper’s face. His eyes were closed and his brows slightly furrowed, and the Scout hoped, despite what he’d said earlier, that the man wasn’t just pretending he was a chick. He wondered if he should unwrap his hands, but didn’t want to bother with the way the adhesive would cling to his palms and make his hands sticky.  As the Sniper grew in his hand, the Scout ran his thumb over and over the head, feeling each twitch and throb, waiting for them hungrily and biting his lip and glancing up again.

The Sniper’s mouth had fallen open and the Scout began to ache in his pants. He gripped himself through the thick cotton, rubbing and squeezing, too distracted with the Sniper to make any real effort, because the guy looked so good, so, so good, and he could hear the way the Sniper’s breath hitched and could see the way his adam’s apple bobbed. He gulped, and hoped distantly it wasn’t too noticable, trying instead to concentrate on the Sniper growing to full hardness against his palm and gripping his bedroll and being actually kinda bigger than the Scout expected, all y’know fully /there/ an’ all and he gripped himself a little tighter and wanted to say something, anything, wanted to know what in the hell the Sniper was thinking about. 

He looked from the man’s face to the cock in his hand and back up again, watched his fingers slide over the flesh before almost hesitantly, leaning down just those last few inches it took to lick the head, once, a test, twice, bolder, questing the point of his tongue into the slit and letting himself get carried away with it, his own eyes falling shut as he finally wrapped his lips around it, tried to keep his teeth out of the way, tried to remember stuff girls’d done to him that he’d liked but it was hard to string two thoughts together and sliding down a bit further he could feel a vein twitching against his tongue and for some reason that sent a thrill through him and he sucked his way back up, lips quirked up at the corners, gripped the base as he lapped all over the head. 

There was no method to it, really, and the Sniper’s hips jolted, seeking purpose, or regularity, or anything, really. He tried to imagine that it wasn’t the Scout keeping busy down there, but Sophie Cartwright. He tried to picture her round, freckled face and red-brown hair. It was a little difficult, though, with the Scout starting to moan, and the timbre was all off. Plus, when the Scout rubbed his face into the crease of the Sniper’s thigh and brushed his cheek along his length, and he felt the smooth softness of the runner’s mouth and jaw, he was forced to remember that after Sophie went to Melbourne for university, she came home with a glorious auburn moustache, and the Scout’s babyface ruined the fantasy entirely. It was impossible to just concentrate on the sensations, because the stupid brat never kept to one thing long enough for him to start to enjoy it. The Sniper never thought he’d receive a blowjob that was /annoying/. He gripped the Scout by the hair (a little longer on top than on the sides— he could probably do with a hair cut) and got  a yelp in response.

"H-hey HEY! What? WHAT? Whaddam I— what’re you— c’mon man, leggo!"

"No. For fuck’s sake, you’re so set on doin’ this, at least do it /right/."

"What’m I doing wrong?"

There was a belligerence in his voice that the Sniper didn’t like from someone still gripping his John Thomas. “Pick something and stick with it! I thought you said you’d experienced this before, crikey!”

The Sniper couldn’t believe he was having this conversation and rather regretted taking the Scout up on his offer. He wondered, if he shot the Scout between the eyes right now, if it could make him forget this ever happened. The Scout grumbled something unintelligible and wrapped his lips around the Sniper’s cock again, flicking his tongue angrily under the head. The Sniper sucked in a short breath and then glanced around the room. That had felt bloody /brilliant/ and he suddenly realized what a compromising position this was, ceasefire or not, and hoped (maybe not as strongly as he would like) that the Scout would get a move on and get this over with.

The Scout had heard the gasp and flicked his eyes up, repeating the action tentatively and watching the Sniper’s eyes flutter and brows shoot up. He bobbed his head as far down as he could go, pressing his tongue along the veins he found, and listened to the Sniper’s stilted breathing. It wasn’t until he sucked his way back up and thrashed his tongue just there again that the Sniper made any kind of real noise. It was only half of a groan, more of a grunt really, but it got all breathy at the end and the Scout answered it with a throaty moan because despite everything he could still hardly believe that he’d gotten a noise like /that/ out of the /Sniper/ and he never thought he’d needed anything so bad in his life as he needed to hear more so he sucked harder and moved faster and flicked and swirled his tongue until it ached and even though he could really only get about half of the length in his mouth he fisted the rest and tried to remember to stroke but it was a little distracting trying to wring noises like that out of this weirdly sexy recluse who was letting him do all this stuff he’d only ever been able to imagine alone in his bunk before and it was finally happening and every little noise the Sniper made was a fucking grand-slam amazing victory that was just so fucking /perfect/ it wasn’t even funny. 

The Sniper growled and the Scout fumbled his own belt and fly open because he couldn’t stand it anymore. He was so hard it hurt and he couldn’t stand it, reached into his athletic shorts and stroked feverishly with the unwrapped ends of his fingers, pulled off of the Sniper because for a second there he couldn’t breathe and he gulped air and exhaled it in swaths of nonsense dialogue that the Sniper tried very hard to ignore. 

"Aw fuck Snipes you taste so damn good I never fuckin’ thought this is what it would—" /gasp/ "—taste like or be like or nothin’ I mean fuck Snipes I can’t even tell ya how long I’ve wanted this an’ yer lettin’ me an’ mgghh, GAWD—" The Sniper tugged the Scout’s hair again and the Scout swallowed a sound but practically dove back into licking and sucking the Sniper up and down, one hand busy between his own legs and the other flitting between gripping the Sniper’s cock at its base and clutching at the man’s inner thigh, as if it was unsure of what to do. He moaned and whined and bucked into his own hand and the Sniper dug short nails into the Scout’s shoulder and tried to block out all the noise, the Scout’s wordless running commentary and the messy slurping and the sound of his wrapped knuckles rubbing against his shorts as he jerked himself off in a desperate furor. Still and all, he could say this for the mouthy wanker: he at least had a very strong tongue. Probably came as a result of never shutting the hell up, but the Sniper tried his best not to think on it. Not when the Scout had finally found a pattern that worked and the friction of the flat of his tongue was beautiful and the heat and he’d finally figured out how to tuck his lips over his teeth and he kept flicking his tongue in that way that was just, and actually the way he kept moaning was starting to feel pretty good, too, when the Scout grew bolder and took more of the Sniper’s length into his mouth and the Sniper thought he might just like to grab the bugger by his oversized ears and fuck his throat just to show him a thing or two but didn’t much fancy being bitten and he felt like he might actually be getting somewhere near close, with this, which surprised him and he wondered if it would be the same if he actually did try to bugger the whelp, would it feel strangely good to put it to him, especially when the blighter obviously wanted it so bleedin’ badly it would be funny if it wasn’t so bloomin’ /odd/ but it was best not to think about that either, maybe.

Maybe it was better to just think about the slide of rough fingertips from the base of his cock that met lips about halfway down and each pulled back to meet again, over and over, tongue writhing and seeming to seek out new pleasure spots. His hips jolted and he swallowed a noise and the Scout /stopped/. The heat disappeared and the Sniper was left with just the runner’s thumb and index finger forming a ring right at his root and holding too, too tight.

“‘ere, whaddya think yer—” the Sniper began, and it came out much too breathless for his liking, and he glanced down at the Scout who had a strange and disconcerting look on his face. 

"Ya wanna get off, Snipes?"

"/Wot/—"

"Yer gettin’ close, I can feel it. So d’ya want me to finish you off, then?"

"You, what—"

"Yes or no Snipes. Do you want me to make you come?" 

"Dammit, Scout—"

"Yeah, that’s right. Say my name. Tell me you wanna come, you want me to do it for you." The Sniper growled and tried to buck into the Scout’s grip, trying for a little bit of friction, at least.

"Nuh-uh, that ain’t an answer," the Scout stated, fingers tightening for a fraction of a second and a grin creeping across his features. "Yes. Or. No. Snipes."

The Sniper squirmed, his boots skidded across the dusty floor as he tried to work the Scout around to stroking him again, or something, anything.  “Awright! All right,” the marksman panted. 

"Alright WHAT?" the Scout urged, grip never budging. 

"Alright okay! Yes I want to bleedin’ get off, ya thrice-damned loony mongrel!"

"That ain’t what they call me ‘round here, buster." The Sniper muttered something like, ‘what they do call you is much worse,’ but the Scout ignored him. "Ain’t that hard, yanno. Ain’t even gonna make you say ‘please’. You just gotta admit to it, ‘s all." He drummed the fingertips of his other hand against his thigh, waiting for the Sniper’s response before he could go back to touching himself. 

"Oh for the love of—"

"Y’really wanna waste the ceasefire like this?"

"Christ, Scout, shut up and damn well finish what you started!"

"Hm, gettin’ closer," the Scout commented, rewarding the Sniper by stroking him lightly with the two fingers he’d used to form a cockring. 

"Ohfuckinhell YES," the Sniper breathed at the touch, back attempting to arch.

"Y’want more?"

"Goddammit, YES!"

"Then say my name!"

"I swear to God, Scout—" But the Scout made good and then some, wrapping his lips and tongue around the Sniper’s cock with a thirst and licking and sucking and stroking until the Sniper began to groan again and picking up the pace if only to drag more of those sounds out of the man and the Sniper shuddered and grimaced and even had the decency to choke out a quick "Fuck, Scout, I’m—" before he was bucking and twitching and coming into the Scout’s mouth and across the bridge of the Scout’s nose as the runner pulled back and coughed and wiped his mouth and another spurt landed on his cheek and his tongue poked out to lick at the mess as it ran into the corner of his mouth and the Sniper said ‘Aw, HELL’ and looked away. 

The Scout swiped the back of his hand across his face and got most of the splatters up, though a fleck or two still lingered at his jaw, contrasting mightily with the bruise there, and without thinking wiped it on his already filthy pants. He was too busy snaking his other hand back into his shorts to worry about that sort of thing. 

"Aw, FUCK, man, you— you said my name when you came! Fuck! Fuck, man!" He was ecstatic and the Sniper refused to even look at what was guaranteed to be a ridiculously self-satisfied smirk on the Scout’s face. The Scout kneeled up, back straightening, and shoved both hands into his pants. His head fell to the side and his eyes closed and he panted and moaned as he replayed it all in his head and fucked his own hands.

The Sniper couldn’t help but look, out of the corner of his eye as the Scout’s sounds rose rapidly in pitch and volume until he screamed, outright screamed, and came into his fist and the Sniper couldn’t help but think, ‘figures he’s a screamer,’ before shutting that thought out with all those others. 

The Scout slumped back, and again wiped his sticky fingers on his crusty knickerbockers, and heaved a heavy breath. The Sniper tucked himself back into his pants gingerly, and tried not to attract attention to himself. He hoped bestial screams were a common enough occurence on the base that the whole team wouldn’t come thundering down on his roost, asking all sorts of awkward questions. 

A breeze filtered in between the cracks in the boarded-up windows, and the Scout stretched to catch it. Sweat cooled on his bare back and soaked the bends of his knees. He cracked his neck loudly. 

"Aw MAN, Snipes," he piped up and the Sniper winced because he would really rather not discuss this experience; not now, not ever. 

"You’re somethin’ else," the Scout went on and the Sniper wondered how long he’d have to ignore his overly energetic team mate before the stupid wanker would take the hint.

"Well, be seein’ ya. Yo, look me up if you change your mind about doin’ this again sometime, cuz uh, yeah, I had a real good time, right?" The Scout flashed him a weird grin and the Sniper didn’t know what to make of it.  

Already the Scout was gathering up his shirt and hat, making the pointless effort to brush them off before tugging his hat on and tossing his shirt over his shoulder. The Sniper had to wonder if this was the Scout’s usual bravado falling back into place, or if the bloke was just lackadaisical after getting off, or what. 

Pausing at the trapdoor the Scout looked back at the marksman, now fairly well shrouded with barely even moonlight reaching into the room. Only the man’s glasses, sitting innocuously on the bedroll, caught a thin shine. 

"I uh, I mean it," the Scout said. He nodded once in the Sniper’s direction before hopping down onto the rickety ladder and disappearing from sight. 

The Sniper heard the clatter of footsteps on the rungs, and the crunch of gravel underfoot, and then nothing, save an owl somewhere in the distance. He flopped over on his bunk and tried to shut out the world, but doubted very much he’d be able. Any time he closed his eyes, he just saw the Scout’s ardent face with lips stretched wide, and the way, when he knelt up, the Scout’s face had fallen partially into a stripe of moonlight, and how those two neglected dots of the Sniper’s own release had stood out against the technicolour blotch especially with the wan light making the bruise stand out against the relative paleness of his skin— 

He desperately hoped the Scout would wipe those up before heading back to base. He shouldn’t have let him walk out like that, shouldn’t have let that part of himself win… but the secret was out now, and if it wasn’t already he was sure it soon would be, even if the blighter didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t have to. It was literally all over his face.   Damn that Scout and his big mouth.  

**Author's Note:**

> More old fic (over 2 years old, I think) from my tumblr. You can find me there under the same name. Hope you enjoyed~!
> 
> Also, yeah okay Angela Davis may or may not have been in Berlin right around the time this is meant to take place, so referencing her here might be ehh, jumping the gun? (cough) BUT WHATEVER, I’m sticking with it. No offense meant.


End file.
